


Blood.

by an_altoids_tin_of_wonders



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied Insanity, Self Harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_altoids_tin_of_wonders/pseuds/an_altoids_tin_of_wonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red is such a pretty color.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood.

They always tell you to sit still and co-operate. To not argue. To not yell at the doctors, to not curse at the nurses.

There are kids here who scream all night. No one ever asks why. But there are roses by their beds in the morning.

They all smile at you. The nurses who come in to check your wrists, the docs who diagnose me with depression over and over. The last one said I'm a sociopath.  
I'm not crazy, he is.

But it doesn't make sense. Even if it's their job to smile at me and pretend it's all okay. Why me. I'm worthless. I'm nothing.

They never like looking at the cuts. A quick glance, to tell if there are new ones, and then they look away.  
They don't know where I keep my razor.  
They always look, it's why I have to change rooms. They've stripped me a few times.  
I guess I'm lucky they don't like looking at my cuts.

So I just keep going.  
With all the blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood. 

They try to act disappointed when they come in and my sheets are stained and my wrists are dripping. They act like it's a tragedy, tell me I need to stop.  
But even here I'm worthless.  
I'm not getting better, and I'm not getting worse. They can't send me home, and I won't just die so they can be rid of me. They can't stop me cutting, and they can't make me cut deeper.

One of the Dr. Smilies came in today.  
He told me my scars aren't going to fade.  
I've run out of room since I got here. I've taken to reopening everything.

Red's such a pretty color.

They took my favorite hoodie, the one I was wearing when I came here.  
I guess the sleeves are too dark.  
I guess the blood isn't coming out anymore.  
Too bad.

I want to paint the whole room red.  
That would make those jackasses happy, wouldn't it?  
A colorful room.  
No me to deal with.

It's funny how I have so many cuts and I only need two now.  
Two lines.  
And it'll be over.  
The others were just for the pain.  
These are the fun ones.

It's a shame I won't see it all tomorrow.  
All the blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

But they will. And that's exactly what they want, isn't it?  
Someone broken to finally snap.  
Someone worthless to end.  
I feel bad for the poor bastard after me.  
But at least I'll be free now.  
Gone. 

It's a good thing they never liked looking at my cuts.  
I wonder if the mortician will find traces of metal or something in that gash on my leg.  
I wonder if my mother will give a fuck.  
I wonder if she'll even tell Mikey.

But now isn't the time for wondering, now is the time for action.  
Now is the time to do it.  
To watch the blood pour out of my arms, and pour it does.

It's so beautiful.

\------------------  
Gerard A. [information withheld]  
Date of Birth: 4/9/77  
Date of Death: 8/26/[information withheld]

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely the creepiest thing I have ever written ever.  
> Tell me what you think!


End file.
